


The Proposal

by clorinda



Category: Captive Prince
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Auguste is alive, Canon Typical Warnings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, no slaves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-02 22:30:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10954044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clorinda/pseuds/clorinda
Summary: As war threatens to break out between Vere and Akielos, Laurent finds a way to stop it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know the idea been done to death but I wrote this ages ago and figured I might as well post it. The rating will change as I go along. Hope somebody enjoys!

Laurent devised his plan after three weeks of painstaking research, scouring the palace records for any hint of a tactical advantage that would help his brother secure victory against Akielos. And then a solution appeared in front of him in distasteful, absurd shapes that he rearranged with a sick sort of compulsion. 

Akielon delegates had arrived in Vere to discuss peace negotiations over the summer. They had sent the bastard prince, the first slap in the face to Auguste’s goodwill invitation. The meetings had been tense, and long, and Auguste had thrown the treaty papers down on the table in his rooms after they had departed, unable to bear giving Laurent an explanation himself. 

Laurent had read them with incredulous horror. The terms of the alliance offered by the Akielon King were unconscionable and resolute, steering Vere towards inevitable ruin.

“And if we refuse?” asked Laurent, looking up after a stretch of silent reading.

“If we refuse, we go to war,” said Auguste. He collapsed into his chair, scrubbing his face wearily with his hands. “It will be a bloodbath.”

It was like the world was titled out of order to see his brother so defeated. The burden of ruling a nation on the brink of collapse had transformed Auguste. His heart ached to see it.

Laurent had a sensation of his future coming unstoppably towards him and the feeling of disorientation increased. 

“Auguste,” said Laurent, going forward to kneel down at his brother’s feet. He pulled Auguste’s hands down and grasped them in his so that he could look up into Auguste’s face, so dear and beloved. “You have always protected me. Let me take care of this.”

Auguste squeezed his hands and gave him a tired smile. “To know that you stand beside me means everything,” he said, and Laurent heard in his voice that he didn’t believe anything could be done.

“I’ll stop him,” said Laurent. “I promise I will.”

It only took a week after that for Laurent to put his plan into effect.

***

No word was sent ahead by his party when Laurent made his way into Akielos. There was no need. He travelled without any attempt at concealment and expected to be greeted by a full procession of guards when he reached his destination. 

Whispers broke out in the courtyard when Laurent dismounted from his horse at the palace entrance. _It’s him. It’s him. It’s the Veretian Prince._

Laurent eyed the Akielon guards spreading out in front of him coolly. One made to step forward, hand outstretched to grab him by the arm.

“Touch me,” said Laurent precisely, halting his approach with an icy look, “and your king will have you flayed until your bones show.”

The guard stopped. He had clearly not been expecting such a response. Invoking the king’s protection was sacrosanct in Akielos. If it held true.

“What are you waiting for?” said Laurent. “Lead me to him.” 

The guards exchanged incredulous looks. Laurent strode forward without waiting for them to come a decision. Forced into action, they fell quickly into step at his sides. 

Laurent walked into the palace flanked by Akielon guards as if they were his own personal escort. 

It was a mere show, of course. Laurent had counted fifty soldiers disguised as civilians watching him as he made his way through the city to the center and at least another twenty with their arrows pointed directly at his heart when he had entered the main courtyard of the palace. The hands braced on the guards’ sword sheafs now certainly weren’t for his benefit. Laurent was aware that he could be thrown into chains at any moment. There was a great deal of chance that, if he failed at his objective or had misjudged his opponent, it would happen when he reached the end of the corridor. Laurent’s confident, quick strides didn’t falter.

He didn’t wait to be announced. The large doors to the palace throne room were swung open by servants; and then Laurent saw him.

King Damianos was listening to a report from one of his men, not facing Laurent. Tall and broad-shouldered, his size was the first aspect of his appearance that hit Laurent. It halted him in the doorway with such effect that it was a moment before the rest of his appearance filled in: browned skin and unruly curls, uncivilised and overlong. Akielon garments, Laurent noted, left very little to the imagination, and the dense muscles in his body were on shameless display. The confidence he exuded of a man used to having his way only accentuated them.

 _Barbarian_ , thought Laurent. 

Damianos turned, catching sight of Laurent, and his face went blank with surprise. His thick brows had been furrowed as he had paid attention to what his servant was telling him, lending him an air of some intelligence that Laurent had not expected. Now smoothed, his entire appearance was instantly less imposing, younger. He stared at Laurent as if he had been expecting somebody else. But there was no chance of that. Was he already underestimating him?

Laurent didn’t waste a moment of advantage. 

“King Damianos,” said Laurent, voice carrying across the hall as he strolled forward to stand in front of him. The guards trailed closely behind. Laurent bowed shallowly, observing the barest limit of propriety. “I am honoured to be standing before you at last.”

The moment stretched. Dark brown eyes raked him down, starkly assessing. Laurent’s skin crawled as he bore it. His gaze finally lifted back to Laurent’s face.

A hand was raised, signalling the Akielon guards who flanked Laurent to fall back. They did, in perfect obedience. 

“Prince Laurent of Vere,” said Damianos. His voice was deep and rich with authority. Laurent’s pulse skipped as soaring commands directing armies to raze Vere to the ground flared in his mind. “You have travelled far to be with us,” he said. “Welcome to Akielos.”

Murmurs broke anew through the room. Laurent’s mouth lifted as he straightened to his full height. Every eye in the room was on them.

“Thank you,” said Laurent, injecting a deferential tone into his voice. It didn’t come naturally to him; even now, as he tried to soften them, his words still came out sounding faintly ironic. “I have always wondered what my first time in Akielos would be like. Thus far, my experience has exceeded all my expectations. A man could find himself in Akielos never wanting to leave.”

Highly flattering and on the edge of presumptuous, his introduction publicly established a close rapport between them that did not exist. Laurent felt the moment as sharp as a knife’s edge as he watched Damianos take his time deciding whether to reject it or not. Damianos, it seemed, was not a man to be rushed.

“You gratify us,” Damianos said, and Laurent felt a surge of satisfaction that was short-lived as he followed it on: “It is a pity your messengers failed to reach us before your arrival. We might have prepared some entertainment for you. In fact,” he said, dark eyes sharper on Laurent’s face than he had expected, “there has been no word from your camp since my brother’s visit to Vere.” 

A direct challenge, if diplomatically phrased. So there would be a limited amount of dancing around it. 

“It was an educating visit,” said Laurent. “Prince Kastor had so many fascinating proposals for the future of our kingdoms. Auguste hardly knew what to do after hearing them.”

“Traditionally a response is satisfactory.” 

“Is your philosophy on tradition really so strict?” said Laurent. He came closer, voice pitched conversationally only for the space that separated them. “Now Akielos has really exceeded my expectations, for all I know of your family.”

The temperature in the room between them dropped sharply. Damianos’s eyes narrowed at Laurent and his jaw tightened. Laurent noted his reaction in with interest. So the brute was prideful and roused quickly to anger.

“And what,” said Damianos, in hard tones, “do you know of my family?”

Laurent deepened his smile. “Only your brother’s love for you. Some rivalry between siblings is a rather traditional conceit, is it not? I was heartened to see Prince Kastor defend your interests so passionately in our meeting. You allow him a great deal of authority.” 

_For a bastard_ , it went unsaid.

“My brother is a good man,” said Damianos in that same voice. “Perhaps such a disagreeable nature is more commonly encountered in Vere.”

“Well,” said Laurent. “I don’t know about that. But I confess my own brother is forever goaded by my actions. He was rather vexed by my insistence to delay his response to you, for instance.”

“It was your doing?” said Damianos. His mouth flattened as if Laurent was living up to all of his low, quickly assessed expectations. “Far be it from me to argue if you wish to insist that it is a trait individual to yourself.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, a furl of satisfaction unwound in Laurent at having gotten so clearly under the barbarian’s skin. For the first time since they had met, Damianos was looking at Laurent as an opponent. 

Letting his voice rise, Laurent’s words took on a declarative tone. 

“I am here because I wanted to deliver our answer personally. You will find it more interesting and accommodating than what has been suggested thus far.”

Damianos looked at him.

“Leave us,” said Damianos to the rest of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

An edgy wariness settled over Laurent as he recognised that, for the first time, he was completely alone with Damianos. It brought into new focus the Akielon reputation on the warfield, and the fact of Damianos, no less imposing in the flesh. Damianos’s calm regard as he weighed him up in turn pricked at Laurent to speak first.

“Now,” said Laurent, “you are wondering what I will say to convince you that I am worth your while. Shall I get on my knees?”

“Enough,” said Damianos, flatly. “I don’t believe you came here to throw yourself at my feet. Kastor told me Vere was unlikely to agree to the peace treaty. Are you here to tell me that Auguste has changed his mind?”

Laurent repressed a flare of anger at how reasonable he made himself sound. He tipped his mouth thinly up. “I’m here to make you a persuasive counter-offer.”

“Our terms were unambiguous.” 

“As you will see,” said Laurent. “So are mine.”

“State them then,” said Damianos. He was so arrogantly unafraid; Laurent could see he thought there was no match for him.

Laurent strolled forward and tossed the papers on the table before him. Damianos picked up them up and read them with quick eyes.

“This is a decades old agreement. And this is what you have come to bargain with?” said Damianos, dismissively. “Who do you seek to claim?”

“You,” said Laurent.

Damianos let out a scornful laugh. “What?”

Laurent met his gaze coolly. “Our agreement will cement the treaty between our countries far more securely than your terms could manage. You wanted Vere’s vow that there would be no war and you will have it. You don’t need to conquer my country to get it. My brother will never fight you as long as I remain here.”

Damianos was staring at him. “This is absurd,” he said. “You think I will accept this and forgive the terms of the alliance just like that?”

“As I said, my terms are unambiguous.”

“This is a _betrothal agreement_.”

The words echoed loudly in the hall. Laurent let the words sink into the silence between them. 

“You may refuse my hand, of course,” said Laurent. “I understand if I am not to your preferences. But I think that a king on the throne with a contested claim under Akielon law is not an situation that your country’s kyroi will simply let go. That is the effect of a serious crime committed by the king, is it not?”

More than the rest of it, this seemed to strike home. “There is no false claim on the throne.”

“Then you would do best to fulfill the legal duty, as the rightful king of Akielos has owed to Vere for years. I will give you a week,” said Laurent pleasantly, “to discuss it with your advisors and verify the authenticity of the documents. If there is no answer after that time my brother has been advised to release these records. We will see how it will go for you then.”

Disbelief was etched deeply in his face. “If this is a trap,” said Damianos, his voice hard, “Vere will suffer for it.”

“My dear brute,” Laurent said. “Of course it’s a trap. Or have you found a place in your heart for me so quickly?”

Impotent rage. Laurent felt a surge of satisfaction to see it even as he felt the pieces fall into place, signing away his life as he knew it.

“You are everything my father told me of Veretians.” 

“What’s that?” said Laurent. “Smarter than you?”

“A coward,” said Damianos. 

Laurent’s estimation of his intelligence sharply decreased. 

“This overdone preoccupation with your integrity,” said Laurent, “is wasted on me. We both know why I had to come here.”

“Very well,” said Damianos. “You are determined to seal the fates of Akielos and Vere together this way. So be it. If this holds true--if I find that this is not a falsified document, we will play this out to your heart’s content.”

Laurent ignored the sick lurch of his stomach. He had brought their meeting to the exact conclusion he had aimed for. This was a victory. He became aware again of the dangerous power in this man, the anger directed right at him. 

“I can’t wait,” said Laurent. 

***

A special dinner was organised two weeks into Laurent's stay, only obliquely hinting towards the renewed relationship between Akielos and Vere. Laurent prepared himself for it with the same single-minded determination to cement his position in the court as he had since his arrival.

It had happened in a rush, the palace abuzz with scandalous speculation of impending nuptials between their King and a Prince of Vere. Akielon advisors had to surely be scrambling behind closed doors to evade the betrothal agreement, despite the outward appearance of civility. Laurent calculated at minimum another three months of evasion. But that was, of course, discounting his interference.

And there was Damianos himself: tall, powerfully made, and infamously generous with his sexual favours, plucking from his crowd of admirers whomever he pleased to take to his bed each night. Laurent knew what he looked like in contrast to him. All it took for the idea to sink into the court’s mind that Laurent was spreading his legs for their king in his rooms every night was for them to be standing in the same general proximity. 

All in all, despite the way Auguste had dramatised it in his youth, Laurent was finding his first proper courtship rather easy.

Aware of everybody’s eyes on him at the dinner that evening, Laurent seated himself at a calculated distance from Damianos: far enough away that conversation would be impossible but close enough to be in a group of his intimates. Unfailingly politic during public dinners, and otherwise avoiding him completely, Damianos had made Laurent’s work quite simple. But it was still best not to test it.

Prince Torveld, a guest of honour who had arrived on that day, ended next to him. “A wonderful ballad,” he said to him after a kithara performance came to a close. 

Laurent turned away from the Akielon noble to whom he had been subtly seeding the superior advantages of Vere as a political ally. He summoned a smile easily enough even as he tamped down on a flicker of discomfort at the genuine friendliness. He had never had Auguste’s easy way with people. A simpler task was to force people to do as he wished rather than to get them to like him. 

“I enjoy the epics of Patras just as well,” continued Torveld. “Are you familiar with them?”

“A little,” said Laurent. “Your namesake is from one of them, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Torveld, a tad ruefully. “My father told me he wanted me to live up to a hero’s name. It’s a pity he couldn’t have chosen a hero who survived past the first five chapters.”

Laurent laughed lightly and Torveld smiled in return, turning more fully towards him.

“He is a fine hero,” said Laurent. “Every battle that takes place afterwards is pushed forward by the strength of his sacrifice.”

Torveld raised his eyebrows. Laurent could tell he was pleased, as if Laurent had given him a personal compliment. In fact it had been Laurent’s honest opinion when he had read the story.

“Still,” said Torveld, “better to live as a hero than to die as one.”

“Are those the choices he had?” said Laurent. “I rather thought it was to live for himself or die for those he loved.”

Laurent felt himself relaxing as they sank into a friendly argument about the various figures in classical literature. He was comfortable talking abstractly about philosophical ideas and concepts. He started speaking with more heat and familiarity, too easy to rile up when it came to these subjects. Auguste had always made fun of him for it.

Torveld laughed, shaking his head. “There is no winning an argument with a man like you,” he said. “You are a romantic.”

Laurent had been so absorbed in his argument and was so startled by the proclamation that he was stopped mid-sentence. “I beg your pardon.”

“No, I like it,” said Torveld, smiling. Moving his chair so that their legs touched, he leant in to speak only a handspan away from his ear. “You have a fine mind.”

Feeling suddenly wary, Laurent went still. “You’re too kind.”

“You might lend me a Veretian book so we can continue our argument. I would be honoured,” said Torveld, in a voice that dipped low, “to accompany you back to your rooms to fetch it. If that would please you, Your Highness.”

Laurent felt heat creeping into his cheeks as it washed over him what was subtly being suggested. For some time, he had forgotten and let himself be the person he was back in Vere, bookish and stubbornly argumentative. Now he had to fight back a sudden and uncomfortable wave of shyness that was also typical to him.  


It wasn’t like Laurent had never been courted before. But pretty jewels sent to him by a noble who made eyes at him across the room, kept a safe distance away from him by his brother, as Laurent wished it, was very different to this request. If Laurent leaned back, he would brush against Torveld's hand on the back of his chair.

Never before had he had to deal with suitors by himself. He wished suddenly that Auguste was here to put this man off now.

Forcibly, Laurent called back the defences he had fashioned when he made his way into Akielos: he was prepared to deal with things on his own.

Keeping his back very straight, Laurent gave Torveld a small smile that made him lean in closer.

“Do you think that I might get lost?” said Laurent. “Perhaps you weren’t being quite honest before when you told me you were impressed by my fine mind.”

As Torveld threw back his head to laugh, the distance between them widened again. Relief billowed in Laurent’s chest. Taking his chance, Laurent let his eyes move behind him to Damianos and felt a pulse of surprise to find that his dark brown gaze was already on him. Wondering for how long he had been paying attention to them, Laurent’s heart skipped in his chest.

He lowered his voice so that there could be no chance of being overheard. It helped that Torveld was still very close.

“Damen once complimented me in a similar way,” said Laurent, a murmur. He purposefully used his small name without the title, a show of intimacy. “I hope he was more honest.”

Torveld turned his head to follow Laurent’s gaze. Damianos’s expression was forbidding, the corners of his mouth slanted down as he watched them. Laurent knew it was because Damianos was too simple to hide his dislike of Laurent, just as he knew that following what he had said Torveld would take it as the jealous gaze of another suitor. 

“Ah,” said Torveld, understanding lighting his eyes. The chair was moved back and the distance between them widened appropriately. “I didn’t know.”

Laurent decided to pretend he didn’t hear that. “If you will excuse me,” said Laurent, pushing back his chair. “I believe it is time for me to retire.”

He was only a few steps ahead when he heard the scrape of Damianos’s chair as well. It made his heart pound. Laurent didn’t know what Damianos had to say to him now. Exiting the room, Laurent ducked into the opposite corridor to the ones that led to his rooms and waited until the footsteps disappeared down the hall.

***

Days turned into weeks of Laurent insinuating himself into the Akielon court. One morning Laurent took out earrings he had brought with him from his drawer. Personally disinterested in jewels, he considered them with knowledge of how it would appear to everyone if he put it on.

“It is lovely, Your Highness,” said a servant. 

Theodora was older, and she had a kind, motherly air to her when she gave Laurent a small smile. Laurent had seen the covert glances the servants gave him, quickly summing him up. 

“Yes,” said Laurent, letting her misunderstand. With a little wry twist of his mouth, imagining Auguste’s response, he added, “I was told it matches my eyes.”

“It does.”

Laurent went still at the voice and then turned to see Damianos stepping into the room. Laurent wondered when he would stop being surprised at his appearance, the way he always filled up a room: it hit him again as he came towards him.

“Thank you,” said Laurent smoothly, standing up from the dresser table to face him. Since that first day, they had never been alone together and never met inside each other's private quarters. “You’re very kind.”

“Here. Let me.”

Damianos took the earring from Laurent’s hands. Brushing Laurent's hair back behind his ear with careful fingers, Damianos gently pressed the pin of the earring in. Laurent tilted his head, allowing it, even as he felt heat lightly staining his cheeks. He saw Theodora avert her eyes, giving them privacy, and the burn in his cheeks grew hotter. 

“I came to tell you Torveld’s party departed this morning.”

It was strange and distracting to hear Damianos’s voice in a murmur so close to his ear. His fingers were still on Laurent as he closed the earring from behind and Laurent didn’t understand what he was saying. He had avoided Torveld during his stay whenever possible. 

“I see,” said Laurent. “If I’d known, I would have come to see him off.”

Damianos moved back and watched him for a moment without saying anything. Laurent’s skin tingled where his hand had touched him.

“I was right,” said Damianos finally. “It looks well on you.”

Laurent couldn’t think of how to respond. The pause went on a beat too long.

“I’ll take my leave if it pleases you, Exalted,” said Theodora, into the silence. 

“I would prefer you to stay and finish the work,” said Laurent.

“No,” said Damianos. He kept his eyes on Laurent. “You’re dismissed. I must speak with the Prince.”

Damianos moved back again when the servant left and regarded Laurent calmly before speaking.

“I want more time,” he said. “I will fulfil my duty to you but we will do this properly. Following the Akielon custom, the royal courtship takes months in any case. The wedding can be postponed until then.”

Laurent tamped down on a surge of panic. There was only so long he could hold off his brother from finding out. “Surely you have noticed our long courtship is already on every one of your subject’s lips. There is no need for any delay.”

“Yes. I noticed,” said Damianos. “You have made quick work of it.”

“Then I see no problem,” said Laurent. “A quick flirtation followed by an advantageous match that will strengthen the alliance between our nation’s is the simplest explanation.”

“Even so,” said Damianos, “nobody will believe it if you are afraid to be alone with me.”

Laurent flushed, hard. 

“Afraid?” said Laurent in a cold voice. “Why should I be afraid of you?”

“I don’t know,” said Damianos evenly. “You tell me.”

Laurent held himself very rigid, refusing to give into any show of weakness. “I’m sure I don’t have the slightest notion of what you could mean.”

“I want you to know that you may still return to Vere. We can put all of this behind us. I will send you home with a private escort. Your brother may choose to reconsider our terms and if not, then I will meet him as a man on the battlefield.”

Laurent’s jaw tightened. “No.”

Damianos looked at him with frustration obvious in his brown eyes. “When will your brother arrive for the wedding?” 

“He won’t,” said Laurent. The practiced lie slipped easily from his lips: “His wife is in the later stages of her pregnancy and he cannot leave her side.”

Damianos absorbed that. “For Vere to send only the prince and not the king is an insult.”

“You mean the way you sent Kastor to us?”

“That is different. Does marriage mean so little in Vere?”

“Evidently as much as war means in Akielos,” said Laurent.

“You do think of our marriage as war.” Damianos’s voice was sharper now, as if Laurent’s riposte was revelatory. “Auguste will not step into Akielon territory until the alliance is settled. Putting the King into the path of danger before it is finalised is a tactical mistake. Am I right?”

Laurent kept his silence, refusing to answer either way. Damianos’s expression closed in on itself; whatever strange emotions had moved in him before were replaced with a familiar expression of offended disgust.

“We honour our word in Akielos. We don’t need underhanded methods to secure our safety and peace. You may write to your brother and tell him that,” said Damianos.

***

The next time Laurent spoke at any real length with Damianos, they were married.

On his wedding day, the sun shone, the air warm and alive with the excitement of royal festivities. Akielos was a thriving nation, nature enveloped into its beauty in green fields and water fountains, and it was heightened by the cheer of the people. Laurent had picked a retinue that was entirely female and they waited with him on the front balcony in an excited flutter, throwing flower blossoms rather enthusiastically into the crowd from a basket. Theodora seemed too caught up in the mood of the day herself to control them. 

She smiled sympathetically at Laurent when he glanced her way. “It is a pity to have no family with you on your wedding day.”

“Not at all,” said Laurent, smiling faintly. He didn’t look in the direction of the girls waiting on his answer. “From this day forth, Damianos is my family.”

“You are lucky,” said Elissa shyly, one of the younger ones, as her friend beside her expelled a deep sigh.

Laurent followed their gaze and saw Damianos standing further away. He was facing away from Laurent and surrounded by a group of men. One of them, Nikandros, shook him with one hand by the shoulder as he clearly made some teasing jest that Laurent couldn’t hear. Damianos grinned a little, reluctantly, as he pushed back at him. His dark curls had been messed up and when he laughed at another comment from Nikandros a dimple appeared in his cheek. Damianos lifted a hand to push his hair back as he kept talking, dislodging only two of the flower blossoms stuck there, seeming totally unaware of the hoard of admiring eyes on him.

It was profoundly irritating. No doubt it only added to his outstanding arrogance, the way everybody fell over themselves for him. Damianos had probably never been refused a thing in his life, never had to work to prove himself worthy of anything; never cared for anything besides his own self-importance. 

Nikandros leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. Suddenly Damianos’s eyes cut to Laurent, as though he had been aware of where he was the whole time. Laurent continued to watch him, not bothering with a pretense of looking away. 

Damianos’s expression closed and he turned his back on Laurent. 

“It’s time,” said Theodora awhile later.

Damianos’s eyes raked him up and down when Laurent stepped forward to stand next to him on the dais with the wedding official, before facing forward again. It was a familiar inspection, the only way he had looked at Laurent since their last conversation, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of Laurent but found him impossible to ignore. Damianos held out his hand, palm up, and Laurent slipped his on top. Laurent repeated the vows in a steady voice after him, staring straight ahead of him. 

The platform was cleared after it was over, a platter brought forward for them for the ceremonial feeding. Laurent bit the fruit when Damianos brought it up to his mouth. When Laurent took a piece from the table to do the same, Damianos took hold of his wrist to stop him before it reached his lips. 

“I always thought I would marry for love,” said Damianos.

It didn’t sound like a heartfelt confession. It was more like an accusation. Damianos was staring grimly at Laurent’s hand as if he wasn’t really seeing it. Laurent wondered if there was some superstition surrounding this exchange, as if it could ever be any more meaningful than what a man brought to it. These words were the first Damianos had said to Laurent all day, except that Laurent was not sure that he was even aware he had admitted him into his confidence. 

Laurent thinned his mouth. He had certainly not invited it.

“Don’t look so down, sweetheart,” said Laurent. He said it softly, as one would speak to a lover. Damianos’s gaze rose sharply to him. “You have a Prince of Vere at your mercy.”

Laurent waited for Damianos to let go of his wrist and then he raised the piece of fruit up the rest of the distance to his lips. His brown eyes were dark, angry, as he bit into it.

A loud cheering erupted below them. Laurent stood up.

“Our marriage joins Akielos and Vere as one,” said Laurent in a carrying voice, addressing the assembled crowd. “There is no peak that cannot be reached with our combined forces. I give myself wholly,” said Laurent, “to Akielos to take.”

Laurent felt the effect of his words, the primal satisfaction ignited in their minds at the tight-laced Veretian Prince surrendering to their king’s power. 

“Damianos, King of Akielos,” said Laurent, “will you have me?”

Damianos’s dark eyes burned. He rose to his full height. He walked towards Laurent and, in full view of his court, took his hand. He didn't kiss it, as Laurent braced himself for. His thumb brushed Laurent’s knuckles as he bowed his head over it.

It was a courtly gesture, softening the explicitness of Laurent’s speech. Inexplicably, the crowd liked that too: the cheers were deafening now.

“Yes,” said Damianos; Laurent could barely hear him over the uproar. “I will.”

***

Night had fallen like a dark blue curtain over the palace when Laurent finally had the chance to slip away. Distant sounds of the wedding celebrations followed Laurent into the silence of the palace hallway. 

He felt wide awake and oddly hollow, his footsteps quiet on the stone floor in the long corridor that led to his rooms. His guards didn’t speak to him as they followed behind. It added to the out of body sense that he wasn’t really there at all. 

Dismissing them at the door, he entered his new rooms. Inside, finally alone, he looked around at the ornate furniture fit for a king and put a name to the bereft feeling welling inside him. 

He sat down on the bed and pressed his fists into his hot eyes. There was nobody to witness this moment of weakness. 

Laurent missed his brother with a fierce, aching intensity. He felt the wrongness of it that Auguste wasn’t here with him; that he didn’t know all of Laurent’s secrets anymore.

Auguste’s own wedding came to mind now. His brother’s helpless laugh every time he had shared a glance with Maresa, as if the bubbling joy in him was too much for him to contain. Laurent had felt his happiness as if it were his own. He had watched his brother and his wife look at each other and felt awed that that sort of affection could exist between people. He hadn’t ever really believed he could trick anybody into loving him that way and yet, privately, he had felt a pang of longing for it anyway.

Damianos had believed he would marry for love. Laurent’s throat felt thick. And what did he think Laurent had expected? Not to be alone in a foreign country with a man who despised him. 

Laurent let himself think what he had known since he had left for Akielos. _I am never going back home._

He took in a steadying breath and forced his thoughts into order. He was just about to get up and look for a book until his mind settled enough for sleep when he heard the sound of the door opening.

Laurent’s heart slammed into his chest. Absurdly large as he was, Damianos filled up the doorway. Brow furrowed, Damianos stared at Laurent as if he was not quite sure why he was in his bedroom.

Laurent certainly had not expected him either. He thought he had already taken care of this possibility. Pricking at Damianos’s dislike of him, until it cemented into an implacable disgust, had been partly towards this aim. He had been aware that he could have, even as he tied the rope of matrimony around his neck, played the sweet and innocent pet for Damianos, helplessly desperate for his good regard. It would have even been a good strategy. He had seen the way Damianos responded to submission, the instinctive way he assumed responsibility at the show of weakness in others. If only it did not involve Laurent spreading his legs for the Akielon brute.

But it seemed he had been naively overconfident that Damianos would not join him tonight anyway. 

“Husband,” said Laurent. Carefully, he arranged his features into an expression of bland politeness. “You made it.”

“You waited up?” said Damianos. 

His mouth tucked up in one corner mockingly, tone dry. A stagger in his step as he came inside made it very clear that he had accepted the drinks pressed onto him, and more. Alone with him, the fine hairs on Laurent’s arm stood up. 

“My devotion bodes better for our future than your punctuality,” said Laurent. “Is it not unseemly to make your husband wait on his wedding night?”

Damianos moved toward him and Laurent’s mind flew to the knife under his pillow. With sickening clarity, he realised that whatever came next he wouldn’t use it. 

“You have my deepest apologies,” said Damianos.

He dropped the laurel in his hand on the dresser beside Laurent and stepped away. His expression hadn’t changed but Laurent was sure that he had seen his reaction. 

Laurent forcibly pushed down the feeling, despite his overawareness that he was still in his Akielon wedding garments, fashioned precisely for this night. Unlike his own Veretian clothing, it would only take a single pull on the pin for it to puddle at his feet on the floor.

“I confess,” said Laurent, “that this Akielon tradition remains a mystery to me. For a primitive culture, the royal consummation is shrouded in so much prudery I hardly know what to expect.” 

Damianos, who had started unfastening his cloak, only looked at Laurent with an impassive expression.

“I wonder,” said Laurent, as if they were fast intimates, “do Akielons perhaps only couple in the dark with their skirts pulled up just so for penetration?”

There was no answer.

“No?” Laurent searched for the inevitable weak spot. “Shall I undress as well? Or perhaps,” he said, slowly, “you would prefer to attend me before we fuck?”

Damianos’s hand paused. Laurent met his gaze with politely raised brows. 

Damianos made a small scoffing sound, looking away. 

“Do what you want,” he said. He dropped the cloak carelessly on the table and made for the door on the other side. “I’ll be sleeping in the next room.”

The door of the adjoining chamber shut behind him and the feeling of a blade just dodged rushed in Laurent’s ears. There was a hard pounding in his chest. He stayed where he was letting it calm.

After some time, he went to the table and picked up his book. As he tried to find his place he noticed his hand was shaking a little. He kept flipping through the pages until he caught on a familiar passage. Laurent sat back down on the bed and forced himself to keep reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re still with me, bless you for bearing with the setup. I promise we'll get to the romance and bedsharing and makeouts eventually, that is literally all I actually care about.


End file.
